


Surprises

by athena_crikey



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Future Fic, Gon is 17, M/M, Not quite ready for the deathmatch yet, mutual attraction (to danger), so why not some kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:28:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24024346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athena_crikey/pseuds/athena_crikey
Summary: Something about Hisoka is alluring, the way a blade is. Gon can’t help but want to reach out and touch the gleaming point.
Relationships: Gon Freecs/Hisoka
Comments: 6
Kudos: 272





	Surprises

York New reeks of oily smoke and grease. Killua had told him once that they used to burn coal here for fuel, that it left the buildings painted a slick, sooty black. These days it’s the exhaust from the cars and the factories that turns the air dark, that obscures the sun on the few occasions it decides to shine. 

York New is one of the biggest hubs in the world, a port that opens up the continent to pilgrims and profiteers alike. They say you can find anything there, dreams and nightmares, delicacies and debauchery. Many of the highest-ranked hunters make it their home, or at least keep a regular office there. 

Gon hates it. He hates the dirty air and the stained streets, hates the steel buildings that eat into the grey sky and cast permanent shadows on the earth. Hates the way the only things alive in this city have been twisted by it: the animals are only semi-feral, living off garbage. The people are what Leorio once pretended to be: hungry only for money, living for the glint of Jenny. But.

There’s always a but, with York New. But it houses the most exquisite exhibitions. But it brings together the world’s most beautiful, most scintillating people. But at some point, eventually, everyone and everything in the world flows through York New.

And thus, Gon. He’s been hired to find a jewel, the Dusk Pearl, an incredibly rare pearl that in sunlight is a delicate aubergine hue. It’s not a particularly dangerous mission, or with a particularly extravagant reward. Gon took it because of the challenge in tracing the pearl, which has been thought lost for decades. 

Challenge. Such a simple word, such an elementary concept. But as he’s grown, Gon has come to realise that challenge can be surprisingly hard to find. He was a hunter at 11, was fighting on the 200th floor of Heaven’s Arena and clearing Greed Island before he was 12. He has travelled the world, has won tournaments and prizes, has wrestled some of the earth’s most ferocious beasts and caught some of the largest sea creatures. He’s danced with death so often that he knows every step, every spin of that waltz. And now, at 17, it’s often hard to find something to do that will be a challenge. 

Gon has tracked the pearl here to York New, has a lead on its location in a manor house on the edge of the city where those insanely rich enough to be able to afford green hills and grand vistas on the border of the most expensive city in the world reside. He’ll be making a trip out to retrieve it when night falls, but for now he’s sitting on a bench in Midway Park, people-watching. 

It’s not the best day for it. The sky is leaden, the air cool. There’s a heaviness to the atmosphere that hints at rain; not the prickly static of a thunderstorm but the wetter, moister feeling of a downpour. People are hurrying back and forth: men and women with suits cutting from one meeting to another. Fitness freaks in spandex doing yoga and tai chi and jogging on the paths, dripping sweat. Pan handlers in ill-fitting clothes sparing their energy; they sleep in the relative safety of daylight so they can be alert through the dangerous hours after dark. Gon watches them all, building little life stories around them. This woman is a mother of five working at a bakery; after work she brings home strawberry tarts from the store, rich with butter and sugar and topped with whipped cream. That man is an investment broker with a sick dog he’s had since childhood; he goes home at lunch to nurse it with cheese and pears and tells it how good it is until its dusty tail thumps on the floor. The little boy in the blue shorts dreams of being a hunter; he begs his mother every night to let him camp out on the fire escape under the stars, doesn’t care about rain or mosquitos or rust-eaten iron. 

Then a familiar tread catches his attention. There’s no flicker of aura, no hint of ten. But Gon would know those steps anywhere. He looks up and sees Hisoka strolling through the park, and it’s like seeing a tiger walk down 5th avenue. Graceful, beautiful, out of place, deadly. Hisoka is all of those things, but somehow he blends into the background easily. Not a single other visitor notices him. 

Gon’s relationship with Hisoka is complicated, which is strange, because Gon is very simple. But Hisoka twists him up inside, ties knots in his innards like the magician he is, his touch so deft Gon doesn’t notice how jumbled up he is until Hisoka smiles one of his thin-lipped grins and Gon is suddenly uncomfortable. He doesn’t think they’re friends but he knows they’re not enemies, and that doesn’t seem to leave a lot of options. They certainly aren’t acquaintances, a cold empty word that tastes like dust on the tongue. Gon doesn’t need a word to define what they are to each other; he knows in his heart that Hisoka is an important person to him, and that’s enough. 

Today, he’s happy to see Hisoka. Because whatever else he is, Hisoka is always interesting. And Gon is bored with York New, bored with people watching, bored even with his mission to find the Dusk Pearl. So he straightens and raises his hand, waving. “Hisoka!”

The magician turns to look at him with a smile on his painted lips, as though he knew Gon was there all along – and probably, he did. Gon knows Hisoka likes surprises in the same way he likes violence; he craves it, but he also understands that too much is as unsatisfying as too little. 

“Gon,” purrs Hisoka, crossing to the bench and standing with his long, narrow hands on his waist. He’s wearing leaf-green today, the card suits picked out in a clashing tiger-lily orange. In Gon’s sharp eyes he doesn’t blend in with the park’s foliage for an instant. Hisoka stands out like a dead tree against the moon: elegant, lonely, and a little surreal. “What a pleasant discovery.”

“I didn’t know you were in York New,” says Gon, truthfully. Hisoka doesn’t seem to mind lies, but to Gon their only value is as a necessary evil – he doesn’t indulge in them like the magician.

“Oh, well. We all pass through sooner or later.” Hisoka glances at the empty space beside Gon. “May I sit?”

“Oh, sure!” Gon shuffles over and Hisoka spins elegantly, seating himself with the grace of a willow bending in the wind. One long, pale arm rests on the back of the bench, sharp-nailed fingers extending towards Gon. Even after years of strength training and inches of growth, Gon doesn’t think he would be able to match Hisoka’s thick biceps. And yet his waist is surprisingly thin, the litheness accentuated further by the cut of his clothes. His hips flare out beneath the green trousers, his thighs immensely powerful. The coiled power of the magician so close to him sends a shiver down his spine; not the blinding fear Hisoka had once evoked in him, although there is a thread of alarm. No, what he feels is excitement. “What’re you doing here?”

Hisoka tilts his head back, staring at the grey sky. His impossible hair remains perfectly quaffed no matter the angle of his head, red like fire, like wine, like blood. It makes sense; they’re all things the magician likes. “I was in town to complete a transaction. Sadly, the goods were not up to snuff.” He pouts prettily, and it would be funny except for the undercurrent of tension between them.

“Oh. That’s too bad. I’m here on a mission.”

Hisoka raises a delicate eyebrow. “Indeed.”

“Yeah. The Dusk Pearl. Maybe you’ve heard of it?”

“I have. It was supposed to be lost, wasn’t it?”

“I found it. At least, I think I have. Hey – want to come look for it with me?” Gon blurts the idea out as soon as it comes to him. Hisoka blinks once, face otherwise unsurprised, then looks over at him.

“Why should I?” he asks, not rudely, just with curiosity.

“Well, it might be fun! I have to infiltrate a manor house belonging to one of the York New nobility. I mean, that’s what they’re called, although Leorio told me they don’t have noble blood or anything, whatever that means.”

“It means they have purchased power and respect with wealth,” replies Hisoka. “Quite vast amounts of it, I imagine.”

“Right. Well, there’s supposed to be amazing creatures guarding it, and famous fighters, and a really cool security system. Oh, I’d split the reward with you, of course.”

Hisoka waves a hand. “I don’t desire money. I work for the thrill of it. And working with you, Gon, is always thrilling.” There’s a low throb in his voice that does something to the base of Gon’s spine. More knots tied up inside him, only these ones radiate heat, twisting inside of him. 

Gon swallows and looks up expectantly. “Then you’ll come?”

“I’ll come. But if I become bored, I certainly won’t stay.”

“That’s fine. It would be unfair of me to make you stay.”

“Make me?” Hisoka smiles. “What a brash statement. Do you think you could _make_ me do anything, Gon?” he lowers his hand from the back of the bench and reaches out his clever fingers, runs one sharp nail down Gon’s chin. “You’ve grown in leaps and bounds since we met, I’ll agree. And you’re certainly as fascinating as ever. But I don’t believe you’re ready yet to make me do anything. Unless you’d like to try?” Hisoka’s smile is all sugar and honey, but under it Gon can sense his nen flickering darkly. Around them several passers-by shy away without knowing why. 

“I can’t fight you until I’m done my mission. If that’s what you mean,” says Gon. “I wasn’t trying to offend you.”

“Hmm. Very well then. We will see about your mission. What happens after that will be between just the two of us,” he purrs. His nail reaches the tip of Gon’s chin and digs in like a pin-prick, drawing a drop of blood. He returns his fingers to his mouth and licks the tiny red bead off the tip like a cat; graceful, pristine. His gold eyes hold Gon’s the entire time; Gon stares back calmly. “Such lovely eyes.”

“I was going to leave at around 10 tonight. Does that work for you?”

“Certainly.”

“Then I’ll pick you up; I’ve got a car. Where should I meet you?”

Hisoka gives him the name of his hotel, an expensive one near the garment district. Gon nods. “Okay, I’ll see you there at 10.”

“I look forward to it.”

  
***

Nighttime. The city looks a bit better under the cover of darkness, is nothing but sparkling lights and shadows. It’s still permeated by the ugly reek of smoke and grease, acrid scents that seem to stick to the insides of his nose and lungs. Gon blows his nose into a tissue and it comes out black. Scowling he tosses the tissue in the garbage and finishes pulling on his clothes for the night.

Killua had insisted that he refresh his wardrobe when he turned 16, that shorts and an undershirt were no longer appropriate clothes for an adult professional. Gon doesn’t really care what he wears, but he does care what Killua thinks, so he bought some hard-wearing trousers and shirts. They’re tight but with plenty of give in the crotch and knees so he can still move properly without becoming caught on anything. But he still wears a high-cut green bomber jacket and lace-up green boots. Some things are too hard to give up. 

He rented the car – a small, two-door corvette with plenty of spunk – earlier in the day and left it parked in the hotel’s garage. He gets the car service to pull it out for him now, and slides himself into the moulded leather seats. Gon’s glad he got something fancy rather than strictly practical; he thinks Hisoka would approve of that. 

The magician is waiting on the edge of an enormous circular planter in front of his hotel when Gon drives up, perched on the side with his long legs crossed. He hops down gracefully and slips into the passenger seat. “Not what I imagined,” he says, running his hand suggestively over the gearstick. 

“It was the fastest thing they had. But it’s kind of fun too, right?” He hits the gas and they shoot out of the hotel’s lane and into traffic, which at this time of night is fairly calm. “I’m just glad I didn’t get a motorcycle,” he adds, looking at Hisoka. The magician grins.

“Mmm, that would have been fun in its own way.” His hands run over his thighs, fabric rustling softly. “I do like having something powerful between my legs.”

“You know, all these years I’ve known you I’ve never seen you with anyone else. Well, except Illumi, I guess. Do you have a girlfriend?”

Hisoka snorts. “I am not the type to make a neat little life for myself with a sweetheart. I have had many lovers – both men and women. But I have never loved anyone.”

Gon thinks about this for a minute. “I love a lot of people,” he says slowly. “I’ve even gone to bed with some of them. But I’m not in love with anyone. At least, not right now.” He taps his fingers on the wheel. “To never love anyone, that must be lonely.”

“Must it? I don’t feel lonely. I have many passions, and the leisure to pursue them as I care to. A companion would be bothersome.”

“What kind of passions?”

Hisoka’s smile could cut glass. “I’m sure you could guess,” he says.

“I know you like fighting. And hurting people, I think. But I think what you really like is winning, beating a strong opponent and seeing them lose.”

“There is something delicious in victory, it’s true. And in violence, and death. Death can be simply delectable, Gon, if savoured properly. But my tastes are varied. I enjoy simple pleasures as well – the slick warmth of a bubble bath, the beauty of well-cut clothes. And, of course, people who surprise me. I like them very much.” 

Gon feels himself getting hot under his clothes, under even his skin, the heat seeming to flare up from his bones. He knows Hisoka likes him – he wouldn’t be alive if he didn’t. He even knows that Hisoka, on some level, _desires_ him. Has known it since he was 11 in the ring of Heaven’s Arena with him; it’s not like he’s ever tried to hide it. Gon has seen plenty of animals mating, knows how cats in heat weave their bodies and arch their backs and howl for their mate. He saw the same hungry passion from Hisoka in the arena, the same twisting of his hips, the same low moan. 

“You want to fight me. Don’t you?”

Hisoka’s eyes widen in mock surprise. “Of course. But when the time is right. To rush it would be such a waste. And I am never wasteful.”

“I know,” says Gon, and turns his attention to the road ahead of them.

  
***

The manor house isn’t visible from the road. There’s a wood that lies between the road and the grounds; it parts eventually to make room for a wrought-iron fence with a little guardhouse tucked in beside. Gon drives past without slowing. After a half mile he slows and parks by the roadside; the long road hugging the wood is empty at this hour. By now it’s raining softly, just a light, cool drizzle.

They exit and slip into the woods, two shadows in a night of shadows. The trees are wide but with a low, gnarled canopy filled with old man’s beard and thick creeping moss. It’s a twisted, spiderous kind of wood, and Gon can smell all sorts of rare plants. Many of them are poisonous. 

Hisoka seems to have no trouble evading the dangerous flora, though; even in his heels he steps silently, movements supple as a doe gliding through her field. 

It’s not just poisonous plants in the wood, of course. There are trained dogs and a cougar and even a leopard lying on a tree limb, its tail hanging coyly down. Gon dispatches the animals first, before Hisoka can have the opportunity – he doesn’t want them killed. He puts them down with pulled punches and knows they’ll wake before dawn, muzzy-headed and sore. 

There’s a lake of piranhas and sharks, and a fence patrolled by hulking hunters clearly hired for brawn rather than brain. Gon lets Hisoka take the lead here and he shreds everything and anything in their way; not fatally, Gon thinks, but with all the blood it’s hard to tell. Hisoka often doesn’t kill when he doesn’t have to, but sometimes he does, and sometimes he just doles out fatal injuries and walks away before death takes his opponent. 

Hisoka likes surprises; it makes sense that he’s unpredictable himself. 

They make it to the house after about half an hour and encounter the security system there, all laser beams and mirrors and hidden traps. Lasers and trap doors and crossbows don’t give off any nen, so in a way they can be more challenging than professional fighters. Gon sits in a windowsill and watches Hisoka weave his way through a maze of lasers, elegant as a figure skater. His movements are beautiful and hint at powerful control, his form all firm muscles and flexible joints. When he’s passed through the maze Gon hops down and has his turn – he does it with far less elegance but with a lot more energy, leaping and bounding and tumbling past the security beams. 

Hisoka follows him up the staircase and down the hall to the study, whose safe supposedly holds the Dusk Pearl. Gon opens the door, steps in, and senses movement.

“Hold it,” says a stern voice directly beside him. Gon looks and sees a man dressed in a suit holding a large, glinting gun. 

Guns. Gon doesn’t know much about them, has never used them. Has never _needed_ to. He can easily block a bullet with just Ten, even from as close a range as this. So, unconcerned, he blazes forward. He moves so fast he’s past the end of the barrel before the gun fires, his face even with the trigger.

The bullet careens over his shoulder to bury itself somewhere in the wooden panelling of the room. But Gon’s face is suddenly burning, his eyes on fire. He pulls back and puts up a shield of Ken, focusing all his energy on listening rather than trying to see out his blinded eyes. 

What he hears is a gurgle, then a splatter, then a thump. “Hmm,” says Hisoka, blandly. 

Gon reaches up and feels his face. Even the lightest pressure of his fingers over his eyes causes searing pain, and he pulls back. He feels Hisoka take a step closer, then a cool finger is under his chin, lifting it. “Powder burns,” comments the magician blandly. “Painful, I’m sure.”

“I’m fine.” He uses En to scan the room and carefully crosses to the safe. One hard hit bursts the steel and he opens it. “Hisoka, do you see the pearl?”

Hisoka crosses to his side and stands there. From this close Gon can smell him, bubble gum mixed with blood. Papers and cardboard boxes shift as Hisoka rustles around in the safe. Then: “This would appear to be it.” He hears Hisoka’s trousers shift, knows the magician has pocketed the pearl. 

“I think you’re going to have to drive us home,” says Gon, sheepishly.

“So it would appear,” replies Hisoka.

  
***

Returning to the car is no problem; Gon remembers the route from the way here, and by using En and tracking Hisoka it’s easy to avoid any obstacles. The cold, damp night air feels good on his burned face; he keeps his nose turned to the wind and sighs when they enter the wood and the breeze is cut off. They cut through it quickly and come to the road. Gon pulls out the car keys and tosses them to Hisoka.

“I’m sorry. This wasn’t that much fun,” he says as he feels the cool metal car door for the handle, then scrambles in. “I thought it would be harder. I wouldn’t blame you for leaving me here.”

“An interesting prospect. But then who would nurse you?” muses Hisoka.

“Nurse me?”

“Surely you know you need those wounds tended to. Or is your physician friend in town?”

“Leorio? No, he’s not. But you don’t have to take care of me.”

“I believe we already established that I _have_ to do nothing for you. But what I choose to do, I do.”

Gon tilts his head to the side. He wishes he were Kurapika’s friend who could hear heartbeats, wishes he knew what Hisoka’s was saying now. All he knows is that the magician’s scent has grown more metallic since they entered the car, a hot, dry scent like iron under the desert sun. He tries to picture Hisoka sitting behind the wheel, his strong arms outstretched, his long fingers wrapped tightly around the wheel. His golden eyes glinting in the low light. 

“Then thanks,” says Gon. “For staying.”

“I believe this is the first time you’ve ever thanked me for anything,” notes Hisoka. He sounds amused.

  
***

Hisoka takes them to his hotel, a far more upscale one than Gon’s. He leaves the car for the valet service and escorts Gon into the lobby where he makes him wait while he has the concierge fetch a first-aid kit. The lobby is large and echoing with a marble floor that heels click over; only Hisoka moves silently. Gon likes that; in the big city nothing is ever quiet, and sometimes just the never ending sound of it makes his ears ache.

Hisoka secures the kit and leads Gon to the elevators and up some number of floors; the elevator smells of stale cologne and cigarettes, ugly, sweaty smells. But then they arrive at Hisoka’s floor and finally his room, which smells of Hisoka – of sugar and blood and just a little bit of something earthy. The magician crosses to the bed and sits, patting it. “Come here, Gon.”

Gon does, sitting down on the bed beside Hisoka and listening while he opens the kit and peruses its contents. “Hmm. Water first.” He rises and goes to the bathroom. There’s a sound of running water; in the dry room Gon can just barely taste the sudden moisture in the air; it’s sweet, refreshing. Hisoka comes back and has him hold the cup he filled; it’s cool in his palm. Hisoka dips something in it and begins dabbing cold wetness on Gon’s face; it stings and he fights not to flinch as Hisoka cleans the burns. 

“Oh, your beautiful eyes,” mourns the magician. “Such a pity. But I’m sure you’ll recover. You always seem to bounce back.” He stops cleaning and opens something that smells of medicine and dandelion milk. Using a finger, he slowly dabs on the cold lotion, spreading it over the burns. He’s close, so close Gon can feel the heat of his body.

Gon’s heart is pounding in his chest. He’s never been this close to Hisoka, never been touched by him like this. The magician likes to tease, likes to play with him. But there’s always an edge to it, claws half-out. It’s no different now; Gon can sense the danger in him, the molecule-thin veil of solicitude covering his lust. His proximity is doing strange things to Gon’s body, is making him open up in ways he doesn’t understand. He raises his head, exposing his throat, while his legs slowly spread on the scratchy polyester bedspread. Something about Hisoka is alluring, the way a blade is. He can’t help but want to reach out and touch the gleaming point. 

Hisoka’s finger finishes applying the lotion and slowly traces down the curve of Gon’s cheek to his lips. Traces over them, touch soft. Gon opens his mouth and the finger slips inside. Gon laves the pad of Hisoka’s finger, licks along it. 

“Nnnh,” moans the magician softly. Then the finger is gone and his mouth is there, hot and wet and wanting. He kisses Gon forcefully, tongue practiced at plundering. Gon presses back, not giving an inch, hand coming up to cup Hisoka’s cheek. He tastes like danger and desire, like things Gon can have but isn’t sure that he wants, and things he wants but will never have. 

They break apart like a pair of cymbals, both stiff and shaking. 

“I can see I was right to come with you,” breathes Hisoka.

“Were you?”

“Of course. You know how I love surprises.”

Gon smiles. “Then I’m glad.” He stands up. “I should go.”

Hisoka stretches languidly, his spine popping. “Hm, already?”

“I think so. I don’t want anything else. Not right now.” He has the sense that if he stays much longer something else will happen, something that might be harder to forget. Unlike Hisoka, Gon values his memories, his past. He doesn’t ever want to do something that he can’t look back on fondly. 

“Very well.” Hisoka’s hand rustles in his trousers, and then extends; there’s a very faint amount of Ten outlining it. Gon reaches out and feels a jewel case on his palm. The pearl. 

“I’ll wire you half the reward money. You deserve it,” says Gon, pocketing the gem. 

“Keep it. I’ve received payment enough for my time,” replies the magician. 

“Thanks Hisoka!”

“My, two thanks in one day. I could positively eat you up,” purrs Hisoka. Gon flushes.

“Maybe another time,” he says, and steps out of the room. 

“Goodnight, Gon,” calls the magician’s voice sweetly behind him. And Gon can’t help but wonder what would have awaited him if he had stayed – a waking dream, or a delectable death. 

END


End file.
